


Verbatim

by tangureen



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Asshole Dream (not always i swear), Escaping the Country, Fugative George, Happy ending (maybe?), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Sexual Assault, Rock Star Dream, Running From The Cops, Violence, accidental murder, tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28658790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangureen/pseuds/tangureen
Summary: Dream was a rockstar, he had everything in the palm of his hand. Fame, fans, love, and money. However, dispute leads to his downfall just at the height of his career.And somehow, he lands himself on the highway to Washington narrowly escaping the police with a fugitive named George.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Verbatim

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, firstly, this fic deals with murder. I’ll say that right off the bat because it’s mentioned a lot in this fic. This will be multiple parts (2) this one is Dream’s POV, and yes, chapter 2 will be George’s that will be the rest of their bizarre escape. Also I’d like to say that there is mentioned sexual assault, it doesn’t go into detail whatsoever, but it IS talked about. Also if the characters are not in character that matches their personality exactly, that’s because this IS fiction and it doesn’t depict anything in their real lives. Violence, sexual themes, blood, that’s all to be content warned about— as well as language but who’s to not expect that. 
> 
> If you think Dream is a wee bit stupid for trusting someone so quick, don’t even worry about it. I’m not one for plot twists... or am I ? Haha.
> 
> Anywho, please don’t send this to ANY cc. Do not mention it nor share it with cc’s. 
> 
> I would really like to hear your guys thoughts on this fic, comments mean a lot to an author so if you wanted to share be my guest, kudos as well! 
> 
> This is quite long, so I hope you enjoy!

As the world caves, everyone should accept their fate. Not Dream, however. He’s a fucking rockstar who can’t take no for an answer, has a rock for a heart, and holds a vendetta against almost everyone. Dream was of course adored by his fans, by his stellar vocals and insane guitar solos. 

Beyond what anyone else knew, was what happened behind the scenes. 

“You’re a total prick, who’s got a huge ego, and doesn’t know the first thing when it comes to being a decent fucking human being!” Alex fires at him, “God forbid any of the other band members get the spotlight. We are Evolve, we’re a band. You think we don’t notice your shitty ass getting all the recognition for shit you barely do?”

“Listen man, just hop off my back, it’s not the end of the world! We’ve got fans, all of us, we all work together so what’s your deal with being such a scumbag before a huge show?” Dream chuckles, “We can discuss this afterwards.”

“No, Dream, you don’t understand,” Alex steps close to him, “You’re dropped from the band.”

“This is a joke right, I’m the fucking leader you can’t kick me out,” Dream spits, “If anything I could easily drop you all and go solo. See where the loyalty lies then!”

“Our record label dropped you, we already talked,” Alex said, “You’ve been given too many warnings.”

Dream grabs his backpack and throws it over his shoulder, “Fuck you all!” 

He throws up a middle finger and exits through the back door. Barely bothering hiding his identity, he just threw the hood of his coat up and put the same mask on he wore on his way in. Dream makes a steady pace down the sidewalk, it’s a little cold for an autumn night but he doesn’t mind it as much. The town is fairly small, and the venue was one of their smaller ones but it’s not like he cared. All he cared for was performing and making people happy. Of course he loved his fans, but he had to admit he was a bit of an asshole. 

Hours must’ve passed the moment he made it to a backroad. No one had messaged him about where he went, so he just powered his phone off and stopped in his tracks. The night sky was much more beautiful when there was nothing polluting the air, the countless stars that were able to be seen, it all felt surreal.

He feels something hit him, and the lights go out.

——

The next moment he awakens, he’s in the backseat of a car and he can hear someone talking to themself as the distinct sound of the radio plays on.

“What the fuck!”

The car jerks to a stop and the driver whips around with a panicked expression.

“I know how bad this looks, I kidnapped you— no— I momentarily withheld you— I don’t know. But no random person just stands in the middle of a dirt road in the middle of the night— in black clothes!” he rants, “And I couldn’t like call the cops because— uhm—“

“No fucking way!” Dream says, “You’re that kid who’s wanted because he killed his boss!”

“What!” the kid turns away quickly, “Listen you don’t know half of what happened, you know it’s kinda insensitive just assume I’m cold blooded murderer—“

“I didn’t even think that until you put it in my mind,” Dream says, “Are you going to kill me?”

The boy grips the steering wheel, “God no. I killed him on accident in self defense! I didn’t know that none of my co-workers would take my side.”

“Um, I’m sorry…” Dream coughs, “You’re like, a little scrawny kid. How’d you manage to do that?”

“Can we not talk about it? I mean I just fucking hit you with my car why are you worried about the guy who murd—“ he retracts the statement and sighs, “Listen. I’ll take you anywhere, just don’t give me up. Okay?”

Dream nods.

“And I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-four!”

“No way, I’m twenty-one, you look like a teenager,” Dream laughs, “Besides, I don’t completely trust anything you say. I mean maybe I will trust you if you tell me why you killed your boss.”

“No one believes me anyways,” he says, “Anyways. What’s your name?”

“You don’t know me?”

“Should I know you?” the driver asks, “I mean. You don’t look familiar nor someone I would know.”

“Um, just call me Clay,” Dream says, “What can I call you?”

“George, I guess,” he starts the car up and looks back at the road, “You can get in the passenger seat. I promise I’m not going to kill you.”

Dream jumps to the front, “Where are you heading to?”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Well, I haven’t really got anything to do, my life is kinda ruined so take me with you,” Dream replies, “I know it’s a long shot, but I’m sure you don’t wanna be alone. Especially if you’re wanted by the police.”

“I don’t know,” George starts the car and pulls off the side of the road, “I just met you, and I hit you with my car. I tried my best to like— patch any of your wounds and thank god none were broken but-“

George pauses, only sighing, “I just don’t want another person I put my trust into to betray me so fast.”

Dream supposed he had a point, not wanting to trust a random stranger, so he thinks of a way he can at least gain a little trust out of him, “Look, I’m not the nicest guy. I fucked some stuff up and ruined my life, the people I thought I could trust the most dumped me for that reason. So I can’t completely relate, but I know that it hurts being betrayed by those you believe you can trust.”

He shifts in the car seat a little, pain throbbing at his side but he looks to George, “It feels weird saying this to a guy who just hit me with his car, but I think I kinda trust you and believe that it wasn’t purposeful.”

“Um, I’ll— I’ll think about it, I guess.”

Dream looks over George finally. There is a scar that is just above his brow bone, and his skin is pale, freckles gathered on his nose and lightly sprinkled across his cheeks. They are more prominent on his bridge though, and his face is more soft. Not someone you’d see on the cover of a newspaper for murdering someone, but Dream just wipes the memory away, as George promises it wasn’t purposeful. There’s faded bruises on his neck, as well as one around his eye.

As if there was a fight put up. 

The news of someone murdering a man had been only a few days old, they knew his name and there was one photo of him that was able to be posted so people knew what he looked like. Dream thinks George is a little cute, someone that most likely is gullible if anything. 

He doesn’t know why George wouldn’t just turn himself in, explain what happened, and so forth. But part of him believes it was fear.

“What are your plans, where are you going?” Dream says. George ignores him and opts to turn up to radio, and Dream immediately grabs his hand.  _ Small, bony, soft,  _ “Listen, George, you’re not in a good situation and if you want me to keep my mouth shut you’re going to have to spill a little bit.”

George stares at his hand, and the car comes to a complete halt.

“I know a guy, he’ll get me to England, they’ll give me a new passport and name,” George says, “I’ll live with my friend and he’ll let me stay with him until the case drops. I can’t stay here, Clay, because I’m a dead man if I do.”

Dream nods, “Right.”

“I don’t know if I’ll bring you all the way, but you can stay a while,” George decides, “Just don’t touch me.”

“Alright captain,” Dream salutes, “Just don’t ask me questions that are too personal.”

George doesn’t respond, just starting up the car and drifting back into the quiet headspace he was in before. The road they’re on is long, dirt, and narrow. The likeliness of any cops being around is slim, as this is what looks like a backroad on the outskirts of a city.

The peaceful music fills his ears, and he thinks back to Alex who he had left standing alone backstage. His fans confused as to where he was, and an empty chest on his end. Sure, he was an asshole. He was able to recognize that. But to be kicked out? It was ridiculous to him. Dream rests his eyes and lays his head against a window.

“Don’t sleep— yet, at least,” George says, “You might have a concussion and you shouldn’t sleep when you have one.”

“So am I supposed to just not sleep at all?” Dream remarks, “I don’t have a headache or anything.”

“Well,” George just looks away, “I’m only looking out for you. You hit your head on the ground.”

Dream sighed, then maneuvered his body to be facing forward. It hurt like a bitch, and he was incredibly sore, “How hard did you hit me? Jesus.”

“Not that hard, I was going slow because I was fixing my radio and then you appeared out of nowhere—“ George flushed in embarrassment, and held himself back from looking away from the road, “I hit you at like, 20 mph. I guess.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so nonchalant about reckless driving, I’m kinda scared,” Dream jokes, and George doesn’t laugh so he just decides to shut himself up.

The silence could cut glass. They don’t know each other, Dream is in pain from bruises and soreness of getting hit by a car, George looks anxious out of his mind. Hours pass, George is still silent. Dream sees a sign for a motel and clears his throat.

“There’s a motel on the next exit,” Dream says, “I’ll get the room. You can stay in the car so they don’t see you, just in case.” 

George looks wary, which is reasonable, the circumstances that he’s in he has every right to be. But he pulls off the next exit and into the parking lot. It looks extremely old, but comforting nonetheless. Dream stands up and walks to an ATM. If anything, he doesn’t want anyone to be able to track his whereabouts. He takes out a couple hundreds and then shoves them into his pocket, walking inside a couple minutes later.

A woman sits at the front desk, her glasses low on the bridge of her nose and she’s writing in a giant book, “Can I help you?”

“I’d like a room for two please,” Dream says, offering his crooked smile.

She looks up, then looks both ways and even stands up to look down at her floor, “There’s no one else in here. You get one bed.”

“My friend is in the car-“ Dream is cut off immediately, the woman’s croaky voice piercing through his skin.

“No friend in here, no room for two. Take the single or get your buddy in here.” she stands up and leans on her hands, staring him down, “Got it?”

Dream gulps and nods, “A single is fine.” he slaps the bill on the table, “One night.”

“Hm,” taking the bill, she double checks it's real then gives him sixty in change, dropping the keys next to it, “Now I have work to do, so get on with it.”

Dream hurried back out to the car, “Alright, come on,” he says, and George offers a tight lipped smile, getting out of the car and stretching his body. He stays clear of facing the building entirely, to avoid anyone seeing his face.

It’s then when Dream can fully take in just how much their size difference really is. If he wanted, he could rest his chin on George’s head easily. George was also skinny, his long thin legs and arms seemed all too big for his body. Dream watches George’s hands ring together, his eyes trained down as he faces him. He’s shaking.

“Are you nervous?” Dream asked, which was a stupid question. He had to have been nervous.

He thinks for a moment, before looking in the backseat and grabbing his backpack, “Here. Take this mask, I carry them around.”

George smiles a little and nods, not questioning it. After getting their few things, Dream leads them to the room and clears his throat before he goes to open the door, “She wouldn’t give me a double by the way, so we’re stuck with a single.”

“What?” George says as Dream unlocks the door, “Clay, why couldn’t you get a double?”

“She only saw me, plus she probably thought I was insane. Do you see the way I look?” Dream motions to his face, “I am bruised and bloody.”

“So—“ George says, “Is there a couch? I’ll sleep on that…”

The door to the motel room swings open, and it reveals a bland yellow room. When Dream flicks the light on, it reveals nothing but a queen sized bed, a table, and a miniature TV. There was a room in the back that must be the bathroom, and next to it was a counter with a coffee machine on it.

“So no couch,” Dreams says, “Looks like we’re sharing.”

George blushes, “I can sleep on the ground.”

“It’s disgusting so I wouldn’t recommend you did that,” Dream smiles, “The bed is a little less disgusting.” 

“I guess,” George replies, “In the meantime let me clean you up…”

Dream sits at the end of the bed while George takes out a medical kit. He takes out rubbing alcohol and such, setting it in neat rows on the bed. He looks down at Dream’s face and his cheeks burn red from what Dream can tell.

“Are you embarrassed?” Dream teases, “I won’t bite you.”

“You s-seem like the type,” George stutters out, he looks even more of a mess than before, just opting out to grab the rubbing alcohol and put some on a cotton swab, “Stop distracting me!”

“Cute boys make me nervous,” Dream cheekily remarks. It sparks an annoyed look on George’s face, and in retaliation he presses a little harder on a wound than he needs to, “Ah! Jeez, okay sorry!”

George wipes away some blood on his forehead, “Sorry for hitting you with my car. I really think you shouldn’t stand in the middle of the road while wearing all black, however.”

He gets a bandaid and places it over the variations of wounds on his face, and steps back to look him over, “You… Probably have some injuries on your body so, I don’t know where you want to go from here—“

“I don’t mind you cleaning them up, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dream comments, “I’m not insecure or anything.”

George sighs, “It’s not that. I just met you, isn’t it weird to do that?”

“I wouldn’t say so, I think it’s weird that we have plenty of other things to worry about and you’re concerned over seeing my body,” Dream laughs, “It’s fine, really. Besides, where did you learn to take care of wounds so well?”

“When I was younger I had to clean my own scrapes I’d get when I’d trip and fall, my parents were never really around for any of my firsts, or any of my childhood really,” George shrugs, “As a kid I wanted to be a doctor so I could save lives.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry George,” Dream says, “If it helps at all, I don’t even know how to do the Heimlich maneuver.” 

“You’re an idiot,” George replies, “Just take your hoodie off.”

The light above them twitches, and George looks up at it, “This place is falling apart.”

“Sorry we couldn’t go to a five star hotel, George,” Dream jokes. In response George presses harder on a wound and scrunches his face in feign annoyance.

After George finished up his wounds, he stepped away and rubbed his arm, “You’re all good. If anything hurts I might have medicine that I can give—“

“It’s okay, George, you’ve done enough and I appreciate it,” Dream nods, “Let’s get to sleep so we don’t waste time.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” George asks, “You know what I’m running from, yet you’re being nice. I don’t understand.”

“Would you rather me be an asshole to you?” Dream raises an eyebrow and chuckles a little, “You’re just so… how do I say this… like skittish and frail. I couldn’t be mean to you if I wanted to.”

George frowns, “I’m not frail.”

“Right,” Dream says, “I’m getting to sleep, I’m exhausted.”

He takes off his jeans and George flinches and turns away quickly, opting to rummage through his bag. 

He takes out pajamas and disappears into the bathroom and comes out a few minutes later in a sweatshirt and sleep shorts. George looks as if he’d pass out at any moment, staring at the bed with what looks to be fear.

“I’m not going to hurt you, it’s okay,” Dream says, “I’ll turn the opposite way if it makes you feel better.”

George just tosses his stuff on the table and looks back at Dream, “I need to test you for a concussion, come here.”

Without words Dream walks in front of him, and stands only a few inches away, “Not that close you idiot.”

“Hey, you never specified,” Dream shrugs with a small laugh, but the teasing goes right over George’s head and he turns to dig through his bag once more.

“When I shine this light in your eyes tell me if it gives you a headache or anything like that,” George flicks the flashlight on without warning, and Dream flinches but it’s nothing sensitive to the eyes.

“No,” he says, “Listen I’ve had a concussion before and know what it feels like. I’m fine I promise.”

“I don’t trust you,” George says, “Do you feel sick, do you have a headache? Any feelings of numbness?”

“No to all of them,” Dream sighs, “George, I promise I’m okay.”

“Can you remember what happened before you were hit?” he asks, “Or do you remember anything we talked about in the car?”

“I do, I left an event that I won’t specify, it basically ruined my life, and then in the car we just talked about me not sleeping and where you’re going,” Dream says, “See? I’m fine, please can we sleep?”

“Yeah,” George says, “Yeah, let’s get to sleep.”

In the middle of the night, Dream awakens. Maybe it’s due to the uncomfortableness of the bed, who knows. But when Dream looks to the right of him, George is sound asleep. His body curled uncomfortably and his arms cradled against his chest. It’s peaceful, not seeing George look so anxious. They had just met, so Dream couldn’t truly judge him when they barely knew each other, but George had looked anxiety ridden and it showed behind his eyes constantly. The situation was strange in every way, from getting hit by a car to essentially being assistant in helping a murderer get away.

Though George insisted it was an accident, but in court if it was an accident or not it didn’t matter. Especially if no one took his side when he tried to reach out to them.

Had it really been so bad to run away from it? Most murderers run from the police or hide in plain sight. But Dream truly didn’t know whether or not George was lying about not doing it on purpose, he didn’t look like the type at all. It was a ridiculous thing to believe as anyone can kill anyone.

But George looked traumatized from whatever happened.

Dream looks back to the ceiling and sighs. He thinks back to Alex and his band, or what used to be his band. Alex, him, and Karl. They were his closest friends, but he assumed that he broke that string long before he was kicked out. He wasn’t very good at controlling his temper. He’s surprised he hadn’t snapped at George.

Sleep overcomes his senses soon, and pretty soon he’s back to dreaming.

——

“Clay,” Dream can feel someone shaking him roughly, “Clay!”

He peels his eyes open and George is already pulling him up. The panic in his eyes is back.

“I-I think they’re onto me, we need to go!” George says, “The— The news said they saw a vehicle similar to mine around the road just off of where the motel is so we need to leave now!”

Dream sits up quickly and begins to throw his stuff in a bag and wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He pulls his jeans back on and throws his backpack over his shoulder, “Let’s get out of here.”

George nods and double checks to make sure they have everything and then leaves the key on the door knob, rushing down the steps far ahead of Dream himself. When they get in the car, not a moment is wasted and they’re out of the parking lot in second. Dream looks over to George, finally taking in everything that’s going on.

They were running away from the police, he’s assisting someone who killed another human being in getting across the country to flee it. The police are on their tail, knowing their location and the possibility of both being arrested. But George is taking a different backroad, not even stopping to look before he speeds down the road.

“Do you believe me?” George says, “That I didn’t purposefully kill him?”

“Well,” Dream says, “You don’t seem like the type to kill someone, if that helps.”

“No one looks like a killer,” George says, “But if I some point tell you what happened, would you believe me?”

“I think I would,” Dream says. 

“Okay,” George says, “If the police catch us, I’ll say you’re my hostage. Or something, I don’t want your life to be ruined because of helping me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“They won’t catch us,” Dream says, “I swear. If they somehow find us, I’m good at lying. I’ll figure it out.”

George frowns, “I don’t know.”

It seems the hours blend, they drive in silence, the humming of the radio is tone deaf to Dream as he dozed in and out of sleep. George was focused on driving, not doing anything to make conversation either the longer the day passed. It was nearing noon when Dream had started to feel a little hungry.

“You hungry?” Dream asked, sitting up, “If you stop by a gas station I can get us some snacks.”

“I’m not that much, but if you are I guess we can. But we have to make it fast,” George replied, “I don’t wanna waste daylight.”

“I’ll still get you something,” Dream shrugs, “Hey, you said you’re going to England?”

“Somewhere around there yeah,” George said, “Like England is just the escape route. I’m not going to specify where exactly.”

“That explains your accent then,” Dream says, “How long have you lived in America?”

“About six years? I lost track,” George said, “Left there to escape some stuff but it seems it’s not going to work out the way I wanted it to.”

If there was one thing Dream could confirm, is that George had a lot going on in his head. From one thing to another, many indicators pointed that it wasn’t too great. But he wasn’t one to assume anything, he didn’t want to throw fingers as something that might have not been a big deal. 

An hour later they pull off to a run down gas station and Dream unbuckled, “Do you need gas?”

“Um, I’m at half a tank but I can fill it myself—“ George said, “You can’t just spend all this money on me, may I remind you I hit you with a car?”

“Yeah, but I forgive you, and you don’t need to worry about money when it comes to me,” Dream smiled, “I’ve got plenty.” 

George stared, “I don’t want to know where you even got that much, but if it’s truly okay then thank you, I appreciate it a lot.”

Dream nods and steps out of the car, pulling his phone out and looking at all of the messages that bombarded his notifications.

**_Alex 14 messages_ **

**_Alex 10 missed calls_ **

**_Karl 30 messages_ **

**_Karl 15 missed calls_ **

He opened the messages, reading a few along the lines of  _ i’m sorry, please answer, where the hell are you,  _ on both ends. Instead of minding them, he ignored them and headed inside. The man working the counter looked up at him and then looked down. He hadn’t really paid attention too much as he strolled through the isles, but his eyes landed on a box of blonde hair dye. Dream raised an eyebrow and picked it up. This could be a good cover up for George to possibly lessen his anxiety. 

Dream grabbed a few snacks and water bottles and then picked the hair dye up on the way to the cashier. He smiled as a greeting and set everything down.

“Feeding a pack of lions?” the cashier jokes, “And dying their fur?”

“No, but me and my buddy are going on a road trip, so we wanted to get snacks and stuff,” Dream responded, “I wish though, it sounds so cool.”

“It’ll be 30.99,” the cashier looks back up at him and tilts his head, “You know, you look pretty familiar.” 

“Do I?” Dream says, “I’m not a well known guy. Just from a small town and stuff you know—“

“You’re Dream from Evolve! It has to be you, right?” He gasped, “My daughter loves you.” 

“That’s crazy, I get that a lot but it’s not me,” Dream clears his throat, “Do you think I can get 20$ on pump two?”

The man rings it up and Dream hands him the money, “I really need to get going so just keep the change.”

“Right,” he looks at the gas pump, “That’s your buddy at the wheel?”

“Yep, that’s uh, Miles,” Dream nodded, “Have a good night, sir.” 

The man, who Dream now knows at Mike because of his name tag, smiles suspiciously at him and Dream quickly exits.

Instead of talking to George he tosses the food in the back and presses the gas button and pops the gas cap. His anxiety might be getting the best of him, but he feels off. So he does his best at filling the car and getting out as fast as he can.

George seems to have fallen asleep as well, and Dream looks back to the road. When the gas stops, he locks up the fuel and opens the passenger side. He goes to the drivers side and shields George’s face as he picks him up. He’s so light that Dream could be mistaken for carrying a pillow, but he switches them out and takes the wheel. He stares at the road, then back at the man in the gas station who is staring him down.

The strangest thing about knowing you’re wanted is the factor that you never want to be found. 

He shifts the gears and takes off, and for a second he thinks he hears the sirens of police. The worst part of being wanted by the  _ police,  _ is that they don’t waste a second before they get your hands on you, they don’t waste a second before they pin you down and take you away.

Dream turns the radio on,  _ “Missing band member ‘Dream’ of Evolve is suspected in the escaping and assistance of a murderer, George Davidson, after he disappeared a night ago after a dispute with fellow bandmates. Police issued a warrant for his arrest after he was seen at a gas station in the accompaniment of Davidson on the westside backroad in Sanford.” _

He steps on the gas, and doesn’t look back once.

He’s unaware of how long he’s been driving, but the sun is setting and his eyes are growing more tired with every passing second. George must’ve not slept at all the night before, because he’s still sound asleep. Dream had taken a different backroad that he was positive no one would be on, and he was right. Hours of staring at cornfields and long grass had made him feel like his brain would explode at any given moment. He slowed down and pulled off to the side of the dirt road and parked.

It was far from okay, from being a national sensation to becoming someone wanted for the assistance in the escape of a murderer. Dream ran his hands over his face and looked at George. He was sleeping but his face had been scrunched up and he was gripping the front of his shirt. The silence in the car was hurting him, so he attempted to drown it out by playing some music. 

When he checked his phone, there was no connection but one message from Alex had stood out.

**_Alex_ **

**_5:23 PM_ **

_ Wherever you are and whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re okay. I’m pissed off but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. _

Dream wants to respond so badly, but he knows that if he does it could be a potential risk to get where his location is. He turns off all location services and deletes any app that may be using his location as well, but stops to check Twitter once more before he deletes it.

His timeline is filled with people confused and worried for his safety, believing he’s probably being held hostage or being manipulated. A lot of people are begging for him to say something and just turn them both in.

But he won’t, they’ve gotten so far so it’d be a waste to just throw it all away— especially for George. If anything George deserved to escape. He deletes the app.

On que, George stores awake and looks outside the window, then sits up abruptly. He looks at Dream and his eyes widen, “Where are we?”

“I wanna say we’re in Vermont?” Dream says, “Also bad news. I think the cops are onto us so we can’t make many stops, I’m wanted by them too now.”

“What?” George says, “No, no, no this wasn’t supported to happen your life can’t be ruined because of me. Turn us in. Say you were hostage. Clay— you can’t do this I can’t live with myself knowing—“

“No,” Dream cuts him off and looks at him, “Do you know who I am outside of what you know?”

“No?” George says, “What, are you famous or something?”

“I’m from a band called Evolve. I was and still as a prick, I was booted from my group the night you hit me with your car. They haven’t made the announcement I’m out, but once people know the reason I was kicked I’ll have no one. So listen George, I might’ve just met you, but I believe you. I don’t want you to go to jail,” Dream says, “I don’t want you to wither away because of something you didn’t mean to do, so just shut up about me being your hostage because I’m getting you out of this fucking country, okay?”

George stares at him for a long moment, his eyes look exhausted and the reminiscents of possible days of crying are heavy on the rims, he glances down at his lap, he speaks, “Okay. We’ll do this together. I trust you.”

“You trust me?” 

“You understand me.”

Dream turns his head back to the road, “It’ll be okay.” 

George does answer, instead he just looks up at him. He looks scared. 

It’s going to be a long night.

———

They must’ve been camping out for a while, because it’s midnight by now and Dream is awoken to George tapping him.

“We shouldn’t stay, let’s get going. I can drive.” 

Dream rubs his eyes and then stretches his limbs out, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

They switch and Dream lays his head against the window, “You know, I think we can be friends.”

“Friends,” George says, “You’re escaping to Washington with me and then you’ll never see me again.” 

“It’s the time we spend together, whenever it ends is when it ends,” Dream smiles, “You know, you don’t have to be so negative about everything.”

“Man, I don’t know. Try committing accidental murder, running from the police, and then hitting possibly the most annoying man with your car that you end up haviging to take along with you because he’s now also wanted by the police,” George responding coldly, “Friends? You wanna be friends after I ruined your entire life, so be it you had a fallout with you band, so what! You have a life beyond that band a room to grow from being a piece of shit.”

Dream stares for a moment, “You could’ve turned yourself in and said that you didn’t mean to. Your coworkers? Fuck them. It took place in a restaurant right? Why don’t you pull up the camera footage and have them analyze it and then have them come to the conclusion if it was an accident or not?” he spits back, “Or are you scared? Are you scared because you actually killed him on purpose and didn’t wanna own up to your mistakes?”

George’s hands go impossibly pale as he grips harder to the steering wheel, then he slams his foot on the brake and puts it in park, “You are an asshole, Clay! You try being sexually assaulted by your boss for three years, how about that, Clay? If I didn’t wanna tell you, I didn’t have to!” George looks at him, “He cornered me, I didn’t know what to do so in fear I pushed him. The floor had just been mopped so he slipped and he—“ he cringes, “He fell and I-I didn’t mean to kill him okay, but the cameras in the store couldn’t reach so they couldn’t see what he was doing and it looks like I purposely killed him.”

With a weak hand, George wipes away the tears on his face, and looks away from Dream, and his body limps. Dream feels like a total fucking asshole, which is the whole reason he is in this entire mess in the first place. For being an asshole. And now he’s paid the price again, by hurting George and making him cry.

“I’m sorry, George,” Dream says earnestly, “I am, really. I went too far.” 

He doesn’t look at him, his hands roughly rub his eyes and he shakes his head, “It’s fine, it’s over now so who cares.” 

If Dream had known the rough life George had gone through, he might’ve been nicer. But he knows that even if he didn’t know, it didn’t excuse his actions for being so rude to someone who didn’t just leave him on the side of the road for someone to find. Dreams ribs ache slightly, it might’ve been the bruising but something hurts a little closer to his heart.

“I’m really sorry, it’s over now though and I’m so sorry your coworkers didn’t have your back,” Dream said, “They should’ve believed you and not let all of that happen and turn a blind eye to it. It’s terrifying to go through something like that.”

George looks at him, the red rim of his eyes is barely visible under the glowing light of the headlights. But for some reason, Dream’s stomach twists and turns with butterflies. 

_ He’s so pretty when he cries. _

_ Fuck. _

“You know you’re the first person to ever believe me, usually when I tell them they don’t trust me because I’m a guy and it ‘ _ doesn’t happen to men’  _ but… I know it’s just human decency to believe me,” George sniffs, “But you believed me. That’s all I want from anyone. Just someone who believes me.”

“I believe you,” Dream blurts, “I wholeheartedly do and anyone who doesn’t can meet my fucking fists.”

George just laughs, “Maybe not now considering the circumstances.”

“Yeah, probably not,” Dream nods, “Some other time.”

They sit in silence, the humming of the heater the only sound in the car. It’s bittersweet. Nothing is perfect, but in that moment it’s peaceful, as if the world wasn’t falling apart at their feet. 

“Are you hungry?” Dream asks, “I’m starving. We haven’t even touched the snacks I got.”

George nods, then Dream grabs the bag and gives George a few things, “Oh yeah, I forgot. I think we should bleach your hair.” 

The smaller man chokes on his drink and looks up at him, “What?”

“If they’re looking for us, then you shouldn’t be as recognizable by glance, and I have a ton of face masks you can borrow if you get too nervous,” Dream says, “I think we should do it. I don’t think we have many options.”

“What about you? You’re way more well known than me,” George said, “Wouldn’t they recognize you?”

“I didn’t really think about that,” Dream laughs light heartedly, “Maybe they’ll have black hair dye somewhere? Don’t know.” 

Dream himself had dirty blonde hair. He was quite distinctive from most people as he had freckles that littered his face everywhere and greenish eyes, he was recognized as a pretty boy from the very beginning of his career. His face was more on the thin side with slight cheekbones and a decent jawline. Dream didn’t want to toot his own horn, but he knew he was attractive. The only thing he found a problem for himself was that for his height, he was lanky and on the thinner side— but it was hard gaining weight for him at least.

He was thin, but not as skinny as George was. Not that Dream would pry but it did seem the other didn’t take care of himself as much as he could, he ate like a little bird. 

Dream enjoys analyzing people, and while he had already taken in the features of George, it was easy to miss the small things. His face is sunken almost, more than it had been before. The freckles he noticed on his bridge, were also on his neck. His eyebrow scar looked a little older, as if he had gotten it as a child. George’s hair was a little grown out, it was a little fluffy and for the most part straight. He was cute looking, his features were so gentle. But despite the gentleness, he was closed off and came off cold despite not wanting to. 

Taking a sip of his water, he rests his eyes a little as well. George fixes himself and runs his hands over his thighs, “I think we should get driving.”

“Yeah, staying in one spot isn’t the safest,” Dream agreed, “I say by sunrise we should find a closed off spot to just relax and stretch ourselves out.”

George starts the car again and begins to drive, he shrugs, “Depends on how far we get. We have to get to Washington.”

“Why Washington, isn’t it further from England?” Dream asks, “Why not Florida?”

“They’ll be expecting me on the coastlines and surrounding states, if I am to go the east way then they’ll just be border patrolling if that’s placed in order,” George explains, “But they don’t know that I’m escaping. They just think I'm hiding.”

Dream supposes that’s true. He doesn’t think the police would be able to predict that George would find a way out of the state, or even country. He rests his eyes. The trip will be long.

Four hours later and George let’s put an exasperated sigh, “We need gas.” 

“I’ll see if there’s any stations nearby,” Dream says, “One that doesn’t seem to be as well known.”

George nods and when Dream gets the directions, it’s not as far. Only about half an hour away, “Will the car make it?”

“Yeah, we have two gallons left, but better safe than sorry,” George shrugs, “Just give me the directions.”

It’s silent again after that. There isn’t much to talk about as strangers, especially in a circumstance that both of you are wanted by the police. But it’s how the cookie crumbled.

The gas station is old, run down and the lights flicker every now and then. There’s trash littering the sidewalk and old cigars laying with them. George looks at the station with a wary glance.

“Who could even work at a place like this?” George asked, “It’s like, asking to be robbed.”

“Dunno, why don’t you ask the teenager at the register?” Dream pointed out, “Do you think he’s here alone?” 

George shrugged, “I don’t see any other cars, so I assume yeah.”

“Well, I’ll be back.”

Dream pulls his hood up and straps a mask over his nose and mouth, then heads inside. 

The teenager doesn’t say anything, just spares a glance then looks back down to his phone. Dream eyes the isles, seeing if there’s any shitty hair dye he can get to help with his appearance. Despite all odds, there’s a brand Dream has never heard of and it’s only colors are blonde, black, and red. Deciding on the black hair dye, he grabs it and heads to the register.

He smiles through his mask slightly, “Just this, then 30 on pump one.” 

“Who the fuck buys hair dye at a gas station?” the teen laughs, “Only idiots do that. Hell, I don’t know any higher up gas stations that sell it. Only the shitty ones who have a daily threat to robbery.” 

“Was thinking the same thing.”

The boy has a thick accent, clearly not from around here. It sounds similar to George’s if anything but a lot thicker. He rings him up, “34.56.”

Dream hands him forty, and grabs the hair dye, “You ever get scared working out here alone?”

“That’s a stupid question, man,” Dream looks up at the kids name tag, which reads  _ Tommy.  _ Then back down, “We get robbed like once a week. Only reason we aren’t shut down is because the mayor wants a rest stop where if people are traveling they won’t have to go hours to get there, so he supplies money to keep us up. Too bad he can’t offer shit to fix this hellhole.”

“Crazy,” Dream says, “Well, have a good night kid, and by the way is there a bathroom here?”

“Outside round the corner, wouldn’t recommend but if you gotta then use the sink closest to the exit and the stall further from it.” 

“Thanks, see ya later,” Dream exits and heads to the pump. George is mindlessly playing with his hands as he fills up the car. 

After a few minutes he closes up and taps on the window. George rolls the window down, “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a bathroom here. Let’s get our hair dyed,” Dream says, he nods and George hesitates, but grabs the bleach and follows behind Dream slightly, hiding his face from being seen. 

The bathroom is lowly lit with cracked mirrors and a few pieces of garbage littered around. It’s oddly comforting being alone with a stranger, in an old, run down bathroom on the run.

George looks at him through the mirror, “I’ve never dyed my hair before.”

“That makes two of us,” Dream comments, “We’ll just follow the instructions I guess.”

After about an hour or so of dying their hair, Dream washes his out first and wheezes when he sees how dark his hair got, “Holy crap! I look ridiculous!”

Dream helps George scrub all of the bleach out in the sink and bites his lip slightly seeing how yellow it looked, “Oh god, I think they gave us toner?”

He pulls out the packet and George’s eyes are wide staring at himself through the mirror, “Oh my god. What did you do to my hair?” 

“It’s not  _ that  _ bad, just needs a little toner,” Dream laughs, and George turns on his heel to glare at him, “Hey! I’ve never dyed hair before you can’t blame me!”

“You think you having black hair looks ridiculous? Try having yellow hair!” George whines, “Give me the toner.”

He mixes it in with water and sighs, “I can’t believe I agreed to this. I look so stupid.”

“I think you look cute,” Dream smiles cheekily, draping an arm over George’s shoulders and staring at him through the mirror as he mixes.

“You’re so weird,” George says and wiggles out of his hold, “Help me apply this.”

The toner helps a ton, or at least Dream thinks. It looks slightly more natural than it used to be and it’s more blonde than it is yellow, but when they get in the car and drive off George is pouting about it for almost an hour.

“Please George, I said it looks cute, don’t be upset,” Dream tries, “I like it! It looks even better dry as well.”

“Why couldn’t I just go brown or something?” George sighs, “You got the easy way out, your hair was already blondish.”

“Brown is too recognizable, blonde is completely opposite, hides your identity better,” Dream shrugs, “Do you think we should stop at a motel maybe?”

“It was a close call last time,” George says, “I don’t know…”

“I think we can pull it off tonight, I’ll find the shittiest one and go there,” Dream pulls his phone out and searches for nearby hotels, “I promise it will be okay.” 

“Okay…” George whispers, “But I’ll be mad if we get caught.” 

There's one about fifteen miles away, thankfully. It’s out of the way and nothing seems to be near it except the motel itself. 

When they arrive, a few of the letters to the motel are out and Dream takes a deep breath and throws his hood up along with a mask. He nods at George and gets out. The person at the front desk acknowledged his existence, unlike the elderly lady back at the other one. They’re a bit younger, maybe early twenties at the most.

Dream offers a nod, clearing his voice a little and deepening it, “Room please?”

They look at the computer and type a little, “Just you?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dream says, “Have a good night.”

“You too,” they place the keys on the desk and look back to the computer. Dream quickly grabs them, heading to the car and nodding that they can go to George. 

They gather their things, then Dream leads them to where he believes is their room. It’s a lot more neat than the previous one, the walls are clean and the bed is nice as well. There isn’t much in the room, but it doesn’t look terrifying to say the least.

“Why don’t you go wash up first,” Dream smiles, he lays down on the bed and turns the TV on after George disappeared into the bathroom.

_ “There hasn’t been any leads to where the pair might’ve gone to, police seem to have lost the tail they had on them after the gas station incident,” the reporter says, “If you see either of these males around please contact the police.” _

Two photos appear on the screen, one of Dream from his Instagram and then what seems to be one from George’s as well. 

_ “Lead singer ‘Dream’ has blondish brown hair along with green eyes. He’s said to be around 6’3 or 6’4 and about 178 lbs,” the reporter flips the page and clears her throat, “While George has black hair and brown eyes, 5’8 and 127 pounds.”  _

_ She sighs and looks back up to the camera, “Police are offering up to 50 grand for both of them, so if you see them contact authorities immediately.” _

Dream scoffs, “They put a bounty on us?”

Laying down, he stares up at the ceiling and takes in everything that had happened in the past few days. One moment he was a rising star in a growing band, the next he was assisting a wanted killer on his escape from the country. No matter how he looked at it, something told him that he shouldn’t go back. That he shouldn’t turn George in, not that he ever planned on that anyways.

George exits the bathroom in his sleepwear and nudges his shoulder, “Uhm, I saved hot water for you. If you wanna take a shower.”

“Thanks,” Dream sits up and grabs his backpack, momentarily brushing shoulders with him.

It burned, their touch, it burned him. George seems to feel the same way because he flinched when they touched.

But he brushes it off and locks himself in the bathroom. The mirror is cracked, altering his image. Sighing, he rubs his face and turns the knob to the shower on. It immediately steamed up the room and fogged the mirror.

The moment he stepped in the shower he immediately felt all the pain of what’s happened over the last few days hit him. It wasn’t anything George had done. Of course he’d been hit with a car, which wasn’t something to just brush off but he didn’t care about that. He missed Alex and Karl, he missed performing, he missed all of his fans and he knew how disappointed they must’ve been in him.

Dream cries, he doesn’t cry often but he breaks. His body shakes with his cries and he does his best to suppress the noises he makes. But he’s certain that George must’ve heard him a little. 

He also feels nauseous knowing what George had to go through. He didn’t know much about the other, but everything he’s learned hurts to know that it was so easily brushed off by people he trusted. George didn’t show it, but Dream knew just how scared he was. It showed the moment started crying after sharing what had truly happened. 

Dream knew nothing about him, but he felt the strong urge to let nothing hurt George. 

It was so strange, the way he felt. Maybe it was wrong of him to feel this way, because he knew that there was no time for anything but escape.

He rubs the tears away and finally begins to rinse his body. He uses the rest of the tiny shampoo and conditioner bottles that are supplied and uses the rest of the body wash to clean himself to the best of his abilities. Dream takes a deep breath and turns the shower off. He grabs the last towel and dries himself off, wrapping the towel around his waist and looking in the mirror once more. It was still fogged up, so he wiped at it and stared at himself. 

He looks like absolute shit, even after the shower. Probably because he was crying. Dream dresses himself and then walks out to the room where George is sitting on the bed, messing with his sleeves.

His gaze looms up and all of his features soften, “Were you crying?” 

Dream sighs, “No, I just got the hot water in my eyes. I’m clumsy.” 

“Are you sure?” George presses, “I know I’m not the best person to go to but it’s okay if you were crying. In really sorry for getting you in this situation and I can just— I’ll just— turn myself in, I’ll say you were my hostage, I don’t want your life—“

“George shut up,” Dream says, but there’s no venom in his words, “Just stop. I’m not going anywhere. If you go down I’m going down with you, okay?” 

George swallows his words, then looks away, “I didn’t mean to get you in this. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You need my help, and I’ll do that.” Dream replies, “I’ll get you to Washington.”

“Okay,” George says, “What then? Where will you go if I can’t get you to England with me?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Dream shrugs, “Life finds a way.” 

George stares, but nods, “Yeah, right, right.”

The silence would be comforting if it wasn’t for the television in the background going over their case for the second time in a row. Dream walks over, shutting off the TV entirely and turns back to George. He’s already looking at him when he glances over, his eyes boring into his own. The only noise in the room is the humming of the AC. Dream tries a smile, but George looks away.

“How about we get to sleep?” Dream says, “Is the temperature in the room okay for you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine I don’t mind it,” George replies, “Good night, Clay.”

He gets on the other side next to George and stares up at the ceiling, attempting to sleep the best he can. It had to have been minutes, or maybe even hours because he cannot fall asleep no matter how he tries. Dream turns his head to look at George. The elder is curled up and shaking slightly, eyebrows furrowed together as he attempts to sleep. 

“George,” Dream says quietly, making George open his eyes and look into his, “Are you cold?”

George flushes a little and grips the sheets, “A little bit.”

Dream sighs, “I’ll try to turn the heating on.”

He gets out of the bed and walks over to the thermostat, the dial seems to be broken though. Dream scoffs to himself,  _ classic.  _ Turning around to George, he simply offers a sheepish smile, “It’s broken.”

George doesn’t answer. Dream gets back into bed and faces him, “You know. I’ve been told I’m a pretty warm person. I don’t mind like, cuddling or something?”

“What!” George gasps, “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

It’s not fine. In fact George shivers more as the night pursues, and Dream is getting fed up with the stubbornness, so he scoots over to him and pulls George’s back into his chest and holds him there, “You move too much, just let me warm you up. It’s fine.”

His skin is icicles against his own, and Dream wants to laugh that George was too embarrassed to do it on his own. Dream fully wraps himself around George, caging his body against his chest and closing his eyes to sleep. It comes quicker this time, his imagination taking over as he drifts further. 

There’s a knock on their motel door at 8 in the morning. Dream shoots awake and whips his head to the door, his heart beat picking up at least by ten, and he gets out of the bed. He peers through the peephole, only seeing the women from the front desk standing idly outside of it. He lets out a breath of relief and opens the door, staring down at her.

“Good morning,” she says, “Listen. I know who you are.”

“What?”

“But I’m not here to rat you out or anything,” she pulls her hands from behind her back, “I actually found out many things about both of your cases. And I just know for a fact that this is unjust, so I’m not here to say I’m calling the police or anything.”

Dream looks down at her hands and sees a gun, and jumps back a little, “Holy shit, are you gonna fucking kill us?”

Her eyes widened, “God no!” she hands it to him, “For the long run. I believe in you two. You guys are cute, like little partners in crime or something. And like nothing ever happens in Vermont.”

“You’re kinda insane,” Dream comments, “But thank you?”

“Tell the little one I believe him,” she says, “Have a good day and stay safe.”

Dream wants to say something, but she’s already gone and down the steps of the motel. Jesus, now he owns a fucking gun. Sighing, he turns around and sees George awake and sitting up on the bed.

“Good morning,” Dream says immediately, “Uh- this gun…”

“Who gave you that?” George gasped, “Clay we can’t have a gun on us that makes us so much more suspicious and that means if we use it then we’ll-“

“We’re probably not going to use it,” Dream says calmly, “It’s okay. The girl at the front desk gave it to me, she’s on our side.”

“And you believe her?”

“She’s like our age, she has no reason to be an asshole and set us up,” Dream replies, “Besides. We should get going.”

“Clay…” George whispered, “We can’t make any risks like this.”

“It’s okay, I promise,” Dream sits down on the bed and rests a hand on George’s shoulder, “Don’t be scared, I know the situation we’re in seems harsh and it is, but it’s okay. You will be okay.”

They end up gathering their things a few moments later and heading out on the road. It’s still risky to take any highways so they make do with the empty backroads that look like they lead nowhere.

Dream takes the wheel this time, allowing George to relax as much as he can. He seems to still be upset with him, so in an attempt to lighten the mood he sparks a conversation, “Wanna play twenty questions?”

“No.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Dream still tries, if he’s going to get anything out of George he might as well press until he gets  _ some _ kind of answer from him—

“I’m colorblind.”

“Oh.” 

Dream awkwardly clears his throat, “Listen. I’m not going to use the gun on anyone, I didn’t even know what to do when she gave me it.”

“You still took it,” George says, “That’s my problem.”

“Listen, I’m not going to use it, in fact it’s going to stay in my backpack and we won’t even remember I have it,” Dream comprises, “I mean you do look cute when you’re mad though.”

“Is this really the time for flirting?” George says, “You can’t just say I look cute when I’m mad at you and think the problem will go away.”

“Hey, you’re blushing though,” Dream smirks, “It had some effect.” 

George slaps his cheeks and looks away from him, “It’s hot in the car.”

“The heater isn’t on?”

“Just shut up,” George whines, “You’re such an ass.”

“My specialty,” Dream replies.

George simply huffs and turns his body away, facing towards the window. He watches the cornfields go by. And in Dream’s opinion, there really isn’t anything but fields of some kind of crop for miles if he remembers. Traveling as a band meant you visited a lot of different states, saw different roads with nothing but endless miles of any type of crop. He missed Karl and Alex, they were his best friends but since their dispute he’s felt as if they fell apart almost immediately. As if the years of trying to make themselves known went down the garbage. The fact there was no warning to being kicked out, the fact it was before their last concert in Maine.

Everything fell apart in his hands. Now, he wouldn’t say he’s not completely happy with George. But he’s not mad, he’s not going to hold it against him completely. If his life falls apart it’ll be at his own will not George’s.

“What are you thinking of?” George says, “You’re crying.”

Dream takes one hand off the wheel and wipes at his face, “Um. Nothing, really. I just miss my bandmates— or ex-bandmates I don’t know.”

“I’m sure they miss you too, they’re probably worried,” George says, “That’s why I think if we get caught just let me say I’ve been holding you hostage. I’ll take the fall if it meant you didn’t have your life ruined.”

“George for the last time, no. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to come this far with you only to turn against you, and possibly get you in more trouble with authorities,” Dream responds, his tone isn’t mean but it’s a little cold, and George flinches slightly, “I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay,” George replied quietly, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

Driving feels endless. They seem to always fall into a weird silence that is hard to break. But the silence pursues. For hours it seems.

By midday George has fallen asleep, and Dream slows down a little to grab a snack in the backseat. 

They’re almost to Pennsylvania, from what Dream can remember. He veers off and heads to a close highway, they are most likely out of radar for now. It wouldn’t hurt to see a little more scenery too, and maybe other cars. George’s windows are also tinted so people can’t see their identities. 

“George?” Dream calls, “Wake up. Eat something.”

George stirs, but in the end rubs his eyes and flinches at the bright sun, “How long was I asleep?” 

“A few hours, but you’re probably hungry. You haven’t eaten anything in a while,” Dream hands him a bag of chips and looks back to the road, “And I think we’re safe to go on the highway, they don’t have your license plate nor the type of car you drive. It’d be a nice change from the roads of nothingness we’ve been through the past three days.”

George worried his lip, “I don’t know, are you sure?”

“I’m sure, trust me,” Dream nods, “Just don’t think too much about it. They can’t see through your windows either.”

“That’s true…” George sits up and messes with the chip bag a bit, “l guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

They drive for hours. Almost five by now, and they’re nearing the last for their gas. Dream knows George is sleeping too, so he looks at the road signs and takes the first exit to a rest stop. Thankfully when he pulls up it’s completely empty, as the less people the better. He also knows it’s a risk for him to get caught.

Dream wasn’t an anxious person, no, he was more outgoing and loved the feel of being praised and seen by thousands. He always wanted a career where he could get just that, and that’s what must’ve led to him becoming so obnoxious with his career. His personality dwindled and went from being one of the nicest people you could ever meet into some sort of closed off and cold person. He became controlling of the group he loved, his friends, and just overall ruining any last hope he had to making up for it. His band wasn’t extremely popular, but they were rising stars and the world was at their fingertips. Dream had it all and lost it all in moments. 

But with what he fell into, the whole being on the run from the cops thing, has taken a huge toll on his emotional state. It was anxiety on top of being on the verge of crying constantly, and he couldn’t even imagine what George was going through if he was this bad.

In some far out way, he did have a sliver of anger towards George. He was hit by a car and essentially kidnapped, he didn’t even process it for the longest time. But he was in too deep, somewhere beyond George’s closed off personality had to be someone lively. He knew that he’d never get to truly know how George was, how he interacted with others, or anything of the sort. 

They were fugitives running from the police, only freshly getting off their radar as they entered Pennsylvania. And Washington was far away, there was probably a week's worth of driving if anything. Especially with all their stops. They’ve already been driving for three days, or maybe more. Dream hasn’t kept track.

He finally pulls his phone out and looks at all the text messages that had been sent to him over the course of three days.

So many from Alex and Karl, begging him to be okay or ask where he is. But he couldn’t tell them, he knows the risk that would come with it. 

Dream pockets his phone and heads inside, asking for however much on the gas pump and leaving quickly. Being in an open gas station was dangerous, there were chances of anyone just coming up and recognizing either of them. He quickly fills the tank back up and gets back in the car. 

They’re in Pennsylvania, a state Dream is fairly familiar with. He’s had a few shows and knows his way around a bit. 

He thinks back to when he and his former bandmates escaped for a while and went to a small quarry just outside of Pittsburgh. The stars were beautiful from there, Dream wonders if George would want to go and watch them, even if it’s for a little while. 

It would be a beautiful break from the high anxiety situation they’ve fallen into. He wandered the thought of how beautiful George would look under the stars, he was already pretty as is, but he wasn’t ever shy of complimenting how nice his former bandmates looked when watching the stars. 

Dream gets back in the car and looks to George, who is sound asleep. 

He drives, and hopefully they’d be to the quarry by nightfall if George was okay with it.

_ Oh, to see the stars with you. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!’
> 
> Thoughts on the small relationship dynamic growing? 
> 
> Stay tuned for George’s POV! Unsure when it’ll be out but I’ll do my best to make it quick. Sorry if there were any plot holes I DID lose some motivation half way through but got it back towards the end.
> 
> Have a beautiful day!


End file.
